Grapple
by Snowskeeper
Summary: Rated T for blood and gore.


_**Grapple**_

It was a quiet day in the small village. They'd been living in the desert for a long time, and had never had much trouble with the Mimics. They only seemed to stay around the purple gas, and there was none around here. At least, not yet, and probably not for a very long while to come. But all of the residents sensed something different about this particular day. There was something in the air, something frightening.

Alberto Ramon was the first one to see the man. He was one of the Crags, humans who had stripped to their wrists metal contraptions that had within them small grappling hooks. He was walking slowly, and he was coming out of the desert. He wore cowboy style equipment, impractical in the high temperature around here. It wasn't so much that he would overheat, as that during the night, when the temperature significantly reduced, the sweat caught within the clothing would freeze solid. That could cause hypothermia, or worse.

But the man didn't show any sign of being overly cold, sick, or anything. In fact, he looked like he was in prime condition, a strange thing for someone taking the day-long trip between the nearest settlement and here, let alone from someone coming from the deep desert.

The man entered the saloon, and sat down. Only then did they notice that he had no forearm. It had been replaced by a prosthetic arm, forged from the same material as his grappling hook. He wore black sunglasses, and was clean shaven. He looked to be about 25, though looks could be deceiving these days.

He ordered a whiskey. It was given to him. He stared at the glass, sipping some now and again. People edged away from him. Eventually, most of them left the saloon.

The door was busted down. Three Aeronauts and 2 Ferrics stood at the doorway. The Crag turned towards them. The Ferrics, using large, sharp beaks clasped for weapons, leant against the walls, showing amazing self control for their breed. They wore no shirts, something that was probably wiser in this climate, and had bone helmets for head protection. Two of the Aeronauts, wearing high-class desert-ware and having two steam-jets for hands, which could fire powerful jets of air easily capable of knocking someone over, followed their example, though they moved behind the bar. The bartender had vacated the building the second the 5, who were obviously gangsters of some sort, had walked in.

The lone remaining Aeronaut slowly moved towards the Crag. He sat down next to him.

"The boss sends his regards, friend. He amicably requests your presence." The Aeronaut's voice, having what would be referred to in the pre-Skystone world as an Irish accent, sent shivers down the spines of those brave enough to listen in from the streets.

"I, amicably, refuse." The Crag had no accent, but his voice was just as cold.

"Very well then. He said your corpse would suffice." And without further warning, the Aeronaut sent a blast of steam at the Crag. He rolled off his chair, and sent his grappling hook straight at his opponent, who barely jetted away, using his jetpack, in time.

"Good, still got some fight in ye, do you? Alright then, boys, seems we'll have to trash this place up a bit." The two Aeronauts behind the bar began trying to hit the Crag, keeping him occupied with dodging, but the Ferrics began eagerly chopping apart the supports for the building. Their leader had already walked out into the street, and began giving a speech about how their gang was unstoppable, and anyone who wanted to survive should join now or be killed.

The building began to collapse. Quite calmly, the Crag walked out. There was blood on his grappling hook.

The leader blanched, and turned to run. The grappling hook launched forward, and lodged itself straight in his skull. The Aeronaut began to collapse.

The Crag yanked.

The back of the skull gave way, and the contents of the Aeronaut's skull poured onto the floor.

The Crag was still holding his whiskey.

One of the braver members of the crowed stepped forward. His face was white, and he was trembling from the display of violence just shown.

"We want you gone, stranger. You've brought nothing but death an' destruction here. If you don't leave we'll... make you-"

But the Crag was already walking away.


End file.
